


Faith

by jillyfae



Series: Sweetest of All Sounds [1]
Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Family, Ficlet Collection, Friendship, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2017-10-22
Packaged: 2017-11-28 05:16:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 11,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adelaide Hawke POV shorts, primarily from prompts/requests on tumblr.</p><p>Companion piece to Sebastian Vael's <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/672123/chapters/1229328">Devotion</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home

**Author's Note:**

> [ltleflrt](http://ltleflrt.tumblr.com/) requested "Hawke meets her/his mabari puppy for the first time?"

She wasn't supposed to be there.  It was a Templar stables, used for rest breaks and switching horses, one of many spread across Denerim, though most were on the main road between Lake Calenhad and Denerim.  

But she'd heard the saddest little whine, and she'd been unable to resist following the noise.  Papa always helped, when they came across lost children or animals.  She was just doing as he'd taught her.  Even at twelve she knew that was just an excuse.  But it sounded a bit like his voice in her head, so maybe Mama would laugh, instead of getting mad?

And the little pup she'd found on the wrong side of the gated stall was so very sad, with a big square head and dark fur and eyes.

She couldn't get the gate open, so she sat down on the hay, and let him climb into her lap, petting the short fur until he stopped whimpering, and decided to lick her fingers instead.

She called him Daryn, and he tilted his head, and huffed out a friendly puff of air when she started talking.  She told him about her family, and their new house, and he wiggled around and snuffled her hand every time she paused, and they had the nicest conversation she'd managed since the Hawke family had moved to Lothering.  

He was warm, and heavy, and eventually they both fell asleep.

She woke up to the sound of Papa's laugh, and the shrug of metal plates from the heavy armour of the Templar standing next to him.

"He was the runt, didn't impress on any of our recruits."  The Templar's blonde hair was braided up high on her head, a few loose sweaty strands sticking to her temples, her helmet braced against her side.  "Seems to have taken a liking to your girl there."

"Can't argue with the hound, now can we?"

Adelaide had trouble breathing, feeling blue eyes fixed on her, sure she was about to be found out.   _Not supposed to be here, supposed to stay away from the Templars._

Instead the woman smiled.  "No, can't argue with the hound."  She turned, aiming sharp eyes and a soft smile at Papa instead.  "Know how to take care of him?"

Papa nodded.  "Come along, my little lady.  We have to go explain the newest member of our family to your mother."

At that Adelaide stared down at her lap, feeling her heart thud in her chest, heat prickling in her eyes.  "Really?" Her voice was a rough whisper as she raised her head again.  "Really really?"

"Yes, really really."  Papa coughed a little, the way he did when he was trying not to laugh.  "But only if you get up right now, so we can head home."

She'd never scrambled to her feet so quickly in her life, Daryn big enough, even as the runt, that she had trouble figuring out how to settle him firmly in her arms as she stood.

But she did it.  He was hers, now.  She'd carry him all the way home.

She'd have carried him all the way back to Lake Calenhad, if she had to.


	2. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, a kmeme prompt requested ogling. (And perhaps mentioned a kilt.) I could not quite figure out the kilt, but I was definitely perfectly happy with the idea of some shirtless archery practice and some hot sunlight... ^_^ So was Adelaide.

She was destined for the Void. She deserved it, without the slightest doubt. And it was absolutely worth it.

"Are you all right, Hawke?" Aveline paused after just a few paces and turned back, tilting her head slightly to follow Adelaide's gaze. "Maker," the warrior sighed. "You have been spending too much time with Isabela. Stop eyeing the man and keep walking."

"Uh," Adelaide couldn't seem to manage words. _He's not wearing a shirt. He has muscles in his shoulders I didn't even know existed, and he's not. Wearing. A. Shirt._

She could see the shift across his chest as his arm moved, the tension along the lines of his arms, his feet placed strong and sturdy on the ground. His fingers were so very precise, such control as he placed and pulled another arrow, and it flew, straight and true, right next to the previous one, both in the center ring of the target.

Aveline's scowl only vaguely registered, dismissed as un important in comparison to _Sebastian_ , to busily trying to make sure she didn't forget a moment of the sight, the dance of muscles beneath his skin, the clean smooth arc of each pull, not a movement wasted, the hot sun beating down, making him appear golden and warm and perfect.

_Does all that warm skin burn? Or freckle? Or does that lovely color deepen, even darker? How will I ever manage to get him out of his shirt again to find out?_

"You will move, now," Aveline's whisper by her ear made Adelaide startle, "or I will tell him exactly what your face looks like at this moment. I will also tell Sister Etheline, so she can assign you penance."

Eyes and mouth gaped wide for just a moment, before Hawke regained her composure with one hard swallow. She nodded and skipped a few steps to hurry back along their way.

But she couldn't stop thinking. "Does he... practice with the Guards often?" _Does he always take his shirt off?_

"You think they have an archery range hidden behind the Nave?" Aveline aimed a glare at her friend. "I'm sure he'd be permitted to practice with the Templars at the Gallows, but the Keep here is more convenient."

The guard stopped suddenly, and Adelaide barely prevented herself from plowing into her back. "If I hear the slightest rumor that you're trying to track down when he's here," Aveline turned and practically stabbed Adelaide in the chest with her f inger, making her point as emphatically as possible, "I will tell your mother." Stab. "And Etheline." Stab. "And Sebastian." An extra hard stab, using her entire hand rather than just the one solid, pointy finger. "Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Aveline," Adelaide muttered.

"What was that?"

"Yes, Aveline!" Adelaide practically shouted the second time.

"Good." Aveline nodded once, and turned back around, stride long and steady once again.

 _Good?_ Adelaide sighed as she lengthened her own stride to keep up. _Good. Yes, good. I do not need more temptation. Temptation bad. He is not mine to ogle, he's Andraste's. Lucky woman. Hope she appreciates the view._


	3. blue

Sebastian looked so sad, when he thought no one was watching.

Adelaide was always watching.

_That probably makes me a little creepy._

Adelaide was rather sure she probably looked sad whenever she thought no one was watching her too, however, so she tried very hard not to comment on it.

_If it helps him to put on a smile and keep a civil tongue in his head, it is not up to me to push him._

Stopping staring would probably be good too, but as that seemed to be beyond her ability, she at least tried not to be obvious, so he wouldn't catch her every time he turned around.

She was pretty sure Varric noticed though, judging from the raised eyebrows and rolled eyes he kept aiming in her general direction.

_Shut up Varric._

_'Where would the fun in that be, Lady?'_

_I dunno, can't you have fun by yourself?_

_'Fun's almost always better with someone else. Though I'm not sure about your choice in partner?'_

_He's a very nice man, shut up._

Adelaide closed her eyes to hide the eye roll she rather felt like aiming at herself now.

_Maker, I'm making up derogatory conversations with Varric in my head._

_I bet he'd tell me I write dreadful dialogue._

"Hawke?"

Adelaide blinked, as those blue eyes she'd just been imagining were now focused on her face, Sebastian's head tilted very slightly to the side. 

"Are you alright?"

"'Course! Fine." Adelaide plastered her own smile on her face. "Sorry. Shall we?"


	4. forgiveness

>   
> I will fight, and pray for forgiveness later.   
> 

She knew he thought it a weakness in himself, how easily he lifted his bow, how quickly he could send an arrow in response to a threat.

Or in search of one.

For all he could not bear to let his family's killers rest unpunished, for all he valued the good they did, fighting slavers and bandits and Tal-Vashoth, she saw the shadows in his eyes when he prayed.

He thought his strength at arms a failure of his soul.

She wished, sometimes, _all the time_ , that he would stay down in Lowtown afterwards, _stay by my side_ , rather than returning to the Chantry. So he could see the lives they'd saved, picking up the pieces, finding friends and family again, celebrating with drinks and laughter, trying to get Corff's darts to stick in his ancient board long enough a score could be tallied.

(Varric always knew the score, but most everyone else always lost track as the game progressed and the dull metal points slipped to the floor.)

Sebastian always counted his failures. Every sharp word, every life lost, every opportunity missed.

And yet he never faltered, never paused, always came when she asked, always fought by her side. Honored her successes, even though he never applied them to himself.

She had no idea how to break through his reserve, his control, how to convince him he was as good a man as she'd ever known...

Well.

That wasn't strictly true.

She had lots of ideas. 

Her current favorite was to get horrendously drunk so her brain stopped telling her that grabbing him by his gorget and pulling him down and snogging him senseless was a Bad Plan.

She wasn't sure there was enough alcohol in the word to make it seem like a _good_ plan, but it was quite possible to get drunk enough she wouldn't care.

Only then he might no longer even consent to be her friend.

So instead she stared into her tankard, and let the sounds of the Hanged Man wash over her, and prayed a little herself.

_Andraste Bless, Andraste Guide... Andraste help him realize he is valued._

Loved, even. Though nothing would ever come of that.


	5. eyes

Isabela liked to joke that _of course_ Hawke had fallen in love with those eyes. Brilliant and blue and apparently a family trait; the lack of them in a new young Vael had spawned more than a few cuckolding rumours in previous generations.

Varric didn't really like to think about Hawke and Choir Boy being, well, Hawke _and_ Choir Boy, but would grudgingly admit the man had a decent turn of phrase and wasn't a completely useless archer.

Fenris almost shrugged, and almost smiled, and refrained from saying anything at all about the matter.

Aveline kept a careful eye on both of them. Adelaide wasn't quite sure which one of them she disapproved of more, the apostate ruining the Prince or the former rake toying with the newly minted almost-noble. Aveline kept her opinions close to her chest. But she certainly glared a lot.

Merrill asked if he sang that story song of his nicely... she always had enjoyed a good singer. Adelaide bit her lip, and shrugged, and nodded, because he sang splendidly, but her favourite songs to hear him sing certainly had very little to do with the Chant.

Anders though. Adelaide was never sure if he'd had romantic inclinations himself, or had simply thought of her growing status as a sign that perhaps things were finally going to change, and was now horrified that a free mage would willingly shackle herself to a _Brother of the Chantry._

Conversations tended to be slightly stilted, if the both of them were in the same room.

But Hawke didn't really care what anyone else thought. She got to hear that voice in her ear before she went to sleep, wake up to that profile on the pillow beside her, feel her breath catch when those eyes opened and looked at her, his smile slow and sweet. (Perhaps Isabela had been the closest, after all.)

He was a man of faith she could admire, a heart full of passion and compassion both. A strong arm at her side, a clean shot and a whispered prayer, for those who died and those who lived.

_Plus, such things he could do with that mouth..._


	6. sneaky

“How do they never hit you?” Hawke was panting, lying flat on the ground, having stumbled when ducking under an impossibly huge hammer that had somehow gotten past Aveline’s shield. Luckily said hammer-wielder had not been nearly so good at avoiding Aveline’s sword and was now very dead and messy a step or so away.   
  
Sebastian shook his head as he reached down a hand to help her up. “I try not to be in the path of giant hammers, dearest.” She let him pull her up, and then took one more step as he wrapped his arms around her, strong and tight against her shoulders. “I will admit to being quite glad you weren’t quite in the path of it, either.” His whisper was rough against her ear.  
  
“As am I,” she whispered back, before pushing gently free with her palms against his shoulders. “It was a serious question though.”  
  
“What, on not getting hit?” His eyes were positively alight, relief and humour, bright and blue.  
  
“Yes, exactly. I mean, look at me!” His eyebrows lifted slightly as he did just that, obviously enjoying the view. “Ha. Look at Aveline, then.” She glanced down at her dull brown leathers, at the Captain’s equally dulled metal plate blending into the shadows as she carefully searched the edges of the warehouse room for traps or more cut-throats, Isabela bickering quietly by her side. “We _blend_. Dark colors, thick fabrics... you though!” Words failed as she gestured vaguely at his armor. “WHITE AND SHINY!”  
  
“The trick,” Sebastian smiled softly, “is to not be standing right where they’re looking. Or find a convenient ray of light to make sure the reflection is blinding. You just have to be... aware of your environment.”  
  
“You fight with a longbow. That does not incline one to leaping about in and out of cover like the crazy duelist over there." She tilted her chin in the general direction of Isabela's laugh. "And yet, they still almost never try to hit you.”  
  
"Well, sometimes they try," his grin softened as he crooked his elbow, as her fingers slid and settled against his forearm. "I have a remarkable incentive to avoid it however." He leaned in to kiss her temple, and she sighed, eyes blinking briefly closed.   
  
"You're not going to tell me, are you?"  
  
"More, I'm not sure _how._ You're not very good at sneaky, love."  
  
"White and shiny."  
  
Sebastian just laughed as he escorted her across the warehouse to join the rest of the party.


	7. kiss it better

"Lee-mm-ohhn"

An horrendously stuffed head and thick distressed Starkhaven accent had combined to make Sebastian completely unintelligible. Though Adelaide Hawke could figure out he was, perhaps, still in a very bad mood, as he was glaring at her from his nest in the middle of his bed, a pile of clean rags beside him, another pile of dirty ones full of sick and snot and she really didn't want to know what half filling the pot on the floor beside him.

When she'd attempted to visit this morning, he’d refused to open the door, snarling something she'd eventually figured out probably meant 'go away'. So she’d been forced to enlist the innkeeper’s help with this second visit.

Luckily being Champion scared most people into cooperating with her. _Except Sebastian. Or Varric. Or Isabela... or really, any of my friends. Always have to argue._ She grinned slightly at the thought, before glaring the still hovering land lord away and closing the door firmly shut behind him.

Turning back around brought Sebastian’s still-scowling face back into clear view, and rather than pushing her luck she leaned against the doorframe, tilting the lid of Orana’s _ridiculously heavy_ ceramic pan to let some steam visibly escape. "I come bearing soup?”

The delicious aroma of dumplings and chicken and chopped onions also escaped, but Hawke was pretty sure Sebastian couldn't appreciate that part, judging by how red and chapped his nose was. _Maybe my growling stomach will clue him in, however?_

“Hmm,” he growled slightly, eyebrows still creased in a frown, though when he attempted to open his mouth to say something else, he sneezed, hard enough she saw his whole body jerk underneath his covers.

“Mercy, Sebastian,” she took a couple steps in before she reminded herself to wait for an invitation. “Wallowing in self-pity all by yourself will not actually help you _get better_. You need food. And medicine!” She juggled the soup awkwardly until she had the lid back on and the whole thing braced on her hip so she could dig the small pot of gooey-smelly-something-Anders-made out of her belt pouch to wave it at him.

“And really, this would be much easier if you’d stayed at the Estate, rather than retreating back to your rooms here.” She sniffed, not pleased by the damp tang to the air. “Especially since I don’t think the staff airs them out a bit while you’re gone, do they? And I bet the room rent here’s a fortune, lousy Hightown lodging.”

“Deeb prup rrddssh f’m’mml,” Sebastian coughed into his next rag, and as that was something she could decipher, if only because they’d already had this argument a few times, not because he was any more coherent, and it didn’t have anything to do with soup or medicine or company, she shuffled the rest of the way into the room, putting the soup on the t able by his hearth.

“Yes, I know; The Prince-in-Exile needs a proper mailing address. So just pay for mail service, not the room.”

“Swwwt,” he sniffed at her.

“What?”

He just scowled when she turned away from the pot, too aggravated to attempt further conversation. And then he sneezed again, and groaned, and and she could _feel_ the back ache he had to be suffering twinge sympathetically between her shoulder-blades. Of course, when she smiled at him he just scowled _more_ , eyes flickering to the side and fingers twitching like he wanted to throw something at her to make her go away.

"You are just a dreadful patient, aren't you?"

The grunt she got as an answer was rather wet and slimy around the edges. And required him to hold up one of his rags and spit phlegm out of his throat, afterwards, though he managed to roll his eyes at her in the process. She wasn't a very good patient either, after all.

"And disg usting, too," Adelaide swallowed a laugh. "Sorry, that wasn't very nice of me."

At that he did chuck a pillow in her general direction, which smacked into her shins and slithered to the ground at her feet. But he wheezed a disgruntled laugh at the expression on her face, so she decided getting pelted with pillows was worth it.

Besides, he'd feel better after she aired out his rooms and made him eat, even if he'd never admit it.

Not that she'd admit that she was here helping him because she couldn't stand being the the Estate all by herself, either. They were both of them good at denial, sometimes.

But she wasn't think about that now. Part of how the denial worked. Instead she dug out a bowl and a spoon and ladled up some soup and went to tend her patient. It was a nice big bed, and there was a very comfortable sofa. She'd just stay here 'til he got better.

Or better enough he could kick her out again, at least.


	8. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a character meme on tumblr, some thoughts on the things Adelaide and Sebastian don't let themselves have, but fail completely at making themselves not want.

They didn’t talk about it.

His eyes went dark and neither of them said anything while she drank her tea.

Not all her tea, of course.  She loved her tea.  They’d never talk again, if that was the case.

It was just that one mug, the one she made while standing by the kettle in the quiet of the evening.  The one she was careful to drink every day.  The one she kept  in her pack, in case she got stuck out on the Coast for longer than usual on one of her patrols.

The one that tasted bitter, every time, so bitter her throat tried to close rather than swallow.

Sometimes they’d fall asleep tangled up in a chair and she’d wake with her hands over her stomach, and his hands over hers, and she’d have to blink the heat away from her eyes and hold herself so very still so as not to wake him up as well.

She was a  _mage_.

Their lives were not safe.

But some days it was all she could think about, with every breath, how much she wanted …

With him.

And some nights, when he undressed her, he would pause, and place one warm kiss below her navel, his fingers heavy against her hips, and she knew he felt the same.


	9. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> created for a drabble meme, "Bethany and a sister Hawke; Heal Me" prompted by [may](http://maybethings.tumblr.com)

”Carver, get Papa!”  

For once she didn’t hear him grumble, only the loud thud of his boots as he ran.  That, even more than her inability to remember the last few moments, a flash of white and pain, was what scared her.  Carver always talked back.

She tried to reach past the spinning in her head, the ache, the …

“Adelaide, no.”  Bethany’s hands against her cheeks, her voice quick and edged with worry, but Adelaide ignored her,  _it hurts,_  and tried to hear the song of her magic instead, tried to bring it out to ease the pain.

“Delly, stop it.”  Sharp as a slap, Bethany’s voice and that particularly hated nickname forced her to blink, to look up into her sister’s eyes.  ”The bones are crooked, if you shove magic at them ‘til they stop hurting you’ll just heal them wrong, and Papa will have to break them all over again to fix them.”

Later, she’d remember the shadow in the Bethany’s voice, she’d figure out that if she’d healed herself wrong there might have been no fixing it.  

A lifetime broken, or her life cut short when she never recovered at all.

But at the time she caught on the words Bethany used,  _all this pain again,_  and though she heard the whine in her own breathing, though her fingers dug into the ground beneath her as she tried not to sob,  _sobbing would hurt more, even more than breathing_ , she made herself still, made herself wait.

“Shh,” Bethany whispered, her forehead resting on the dirt beside her, her hands still holding Adelaide’s head still, though Adelaide could feel the tremble in her arms and her breath.

They both waited for Papa to save them.


	10. The Long Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for [tig](http://syzara.tumblr.com): Aveline has trouble with romance. Not that Adelaide's any better.

Adelaide was pretty sure she was blushing.  Part second-hand embarrassment, part realization that if she was in Aveline’s boots she’d be at least as inept, part desperately avoiding looking at Sebastian because really she was in Aveline’s boots and managing a much poorer showing, since she wasn’t even usually willing to admit it to herself, was she?

Merrill’s delighted “ _oh, you’re courting!”_  inspired a muffled snort from Sebastian, and she really couldn’t make herself look at him.

Aveline looked like she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her, however, which was definitely worse than Adelaide’s general awkwardness, so she promised to help and shoved everyone else out the door.  ”Come visit for dinner, Aveline, take a break, alright?”

Aveline grunted what was presumably an affirmative before the door swung shut again.

***

Dinner with Aveline wasn’t that unusual an event.  Leandra smiled and made polite conversation, Aveline shifted her feet every time she sat down, as if they felt too light without proper boots, and Adelaide tried not to descend into tavern manners or tell stories with too much violence because otherwise her mother worried.

She generally didn’t mention Sebastian too often either, because then her mother’s eyes narrowed and she got this  _glint_  to her smile, and it was slightly terrifying.

Today she was also trying not to talk about copper marigolds and Donnic Hendyr, to spare Aveline’s feelings, and found it difficult to think of anything else to say.

She had no idea what she was going to talk about with Donnic, tomorrow, either, to get him to come to the Hanged Man for Aveline. Especially without giving Aveline away.

This was such a bad idea.

But Aveline was family.  And hadn’t actually hit Adelaide over the head with her shield for half-pining after Sebastian for years, so she owed her some serious favors.  Hopefully it would work out better than she was imagining?

At least the food tonight was good.  She’d just drink a lot of ale tomorrow.

She’d almost invited Donnic tonight as well, just to try and help give Aveline a shove, and avoid an evening with Corff’s stew, but then had the horrid mental image of her mother aiming that glint of hers at the guardsman, and she didn’t think Aveline would ever forgive her.

Also then they probably would’ve talked about copper marigolds.


	11. Idyllic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> archery porn and fluff <3

The first time she saw him shoot, he’d been arguing with the Grand Cleric at the Chanter’s Board, and she’d been a mess of nerves of shock and grief and anger, hers and his both.

After that, they were usually in the midst of slavers or bandits or violent idiots, and while she had to know what he could do, and where he was, it wasn’t as if she could ignore everyone else just to  _watch._

That would likely get her a sword to the head.  That was generally a bad thing.

It had only recently occurred to her that their relationship was pretty much as open a secret as the fact the Champion was an apostate, and she could probably go watch him practice and not get anyone in trouble.

Aveline had mentioned that she was trying to train up a proper archery corp to support the main body of the Guard, and yesterday Sebastian had offered to help, so here she was, trailing along with him towards the Keep,  her heart dithering between curiousity and excitement and some preemptive embarrassment because she was afraid she’d turn into a drooling idiot.

He was quite unfairly pretty, after all.

“Are you sure you wish to come along?”  He tilted his head to look at her.  ”Not that I dislike your company, of course, but it’s likely to be quite boring for anyone not actually shooting.”

“I think you underestimate how …  _entertaining_  I find you.”  Adelaide attempted a leer.   _Might as well share some of the preemptive blushing._  “You’ll be talking! And shooting! Whatever could be more fun for me than that?”

He snorted softly and dipped his head, the slightest flare of nostrils and shift of shoulders all that signified he recognized the purr beneath her words.

“Of course, Aveline will glare at me if I get in the way, so I’ll probably actually be up in one of the galleries along the courtyard wall.”  She tapped her belt pouch.  ”Even brought a book, if for some reason you fail to be distracting.”

“I shall refrain from asking which gallery, so you’re not distracting back.”

She grinned, rather delighted, as always, at the realization that they were both equally ridiculous, and barely held herself back from skipping the rest of the way.

***

She didn’t read her book.  It never left her pouch.

She never even made it up the stairs to the galleries, settling instead against a stretch of wall in the shade, just close enough she could hear his voice, the words warm in the air even when she couldn’t quite interpret their meaning.

For awhile it was all introductions and preparations, talking about weapons and fletching and stance and form.  She only caught a word here or there, frames and facing, addressing the shot, saw the line of hips and the lift of elbows, the way he leaned in to suggest an adjustment in knees or shoulders.

She enjoyed watching him move.

It was remarkably peaceful, in fact.  A change from any of their usual routines.  Simple.  Her fingers slid along the smooth grain of her staff, lying on the ground beside her, the stone of the wall cool behind her back, her heels digging into the ground beneath her boots as she flexed her feet.

It was nice, not worrying about anything.  Not really thinking.  The dew had been heavy enough to keep the dust down.  The sky was hazy, a hint of blue behind the clouds, but nothing too bright.  She could smell dirt, and metal, and wood, and leather.  Hay from the butts that held the targets.

Sebastian was a good teacher.  Voice steady and calm, words and gestures even and patient no matter how often he repeated the same thing.  The occasional smile or laugh to lighten the mood.

She was perhaps a little biased, of course, but the guards Aveline had thrown his way seemed to be doing well.  Though she couldn’t help but grin at a few of the bright young recruits eyeing him up a little.  

One poor young man flushed bright scarlet when Sebastian stood beside him, a hand on his hip and a tap of his boot against an ankle to adjust his stance.   _It’s alright, I’d blush too._

Actually, if she thought too much about his hands on her hips she probably would blush right now, even without his voice in her ear to add to the problem.

The morning was almost done when they finally got to the best part.  Guards tended toward competitive, after all, and there was no way they’d let their instructor get away without showing them what he knew, without letting them show-off just a little.

He made it simple.  Whoever hit within the inner two rings could attempt another shot in the next round.

He hit the center every round, and she couldn’t decide what she enjoyed the most as she watched, the way he placed his feet, the line of his thighs beneath the leather of his breeches, the steadiness of his gaze, even when the wind shifted and he had to squint, the lift of his arm, the pull of the string, so close to his mouth, the way his chest and shoulders opened up, that moment of tension right before he released his shot, the line of his hips, firm and steady,  _Maker,_  she had a thing for his hips, the leather hugging close to his body, for once no scale coat to hide them.

Yes. That was definitely the best part.

She wanted to slide her hands along his hips, push down just far enough below the waist to feel the stretch of leather taut against her knuckles, his skin warm beneath her palms.

_Maker’s breath, I’m easy._   She tried not to laugh aloud, but couldn’t resist the smile as she watched him win the impromptu competition.

The poor blushing recruit brought him back his arrows, and then it was a general scramble as they cleaned up and scattered in search of food.  It didn’t take long, and she tilted her head, still smiling, as she watched him approach.

She did so enjoy watching him move.

“Never made it up the stairs, did you?”  She could see the creases beside his eyes deepen as he smiled down at her, offering a hand to help her up.

“Look!” She waved her fingers in the general direction of the ground beneath her before she grasped his hand.  ”Actual grass!  That doesn’t happen in Kirkwall outside of fancy walled-in gardens very often.”

“And the gardeners don’t usually let you sit on it?”

“Tragically, no.” Her voice had softened, barely more than a whisper even as  her smile eased.  Their hands were still clasped between them, and she could feel the warmth of his chest along the back of her hand and arm, even through his shirt.  ”So you see, it was quite, irresistible.”

He was so very close, his cheek just past her nose, her breath against his skin as she spoke, and  _there,_  there was the slightest flush across his cheeks, and a hum low in his throat.  He lifted his chin and kissed her forehead, the soft press of his lips almost chaste, almost not, and she closed her eyes for a breath, then sighed as they both stepped back.

“Shall we?” He offered her his arm, his voice low and rough, and they turned together and headed home.


	12. jealous

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> more archery porn, but now we're back in their unrequited longing days

She was jealous of a string, held so close against his skin, jealous of a feather, catching against his finger tips, jealous of the slide of wood between his knuckles as he lowered his bow, jealous of the sun on his face and the wind in his hair, and a whole wide world that was not afraid to touch, not afraid to be touched, for fear that would be the final weight inside her chest and her heart would break.

She was a coward, she knew, and it hurt, but she could not look away, could barely stand to blink as he loosed an arrow, then drew another, and another, until his practice quiver was empty.  She could barely even breathe as she waited for him to walk down the range, stride loose and confident to collect his arrows, and start up yet again.


	13. Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [Bianca](http://cheesiestart.tumblr.com/) requested Adelaide for a letter/diary meme on tumblr.
> 
> And then I made it sad. 
> 
> Poor Bethany.

_Dear Bethany_

_I miss you_

_You would have loved the house, Mother’s house.  There are boxes in the attic, full of old clothes and paintings and furniture and I’ve even found a few packets of letters._

_Not for anyone we know, not even anyone Mother knew, so far, the paper thin and yellow and the ink faded and almost completely indecipherable._

_But not quite.  Apparently our great-great-great-aunt had an affair with her cook._ _And possibly the butler?  I’m n_ _ot so sure about that part, her handwriting was terrible._

_The rooms themselves still need work, dusty and stained and not nearly enough chairs or shelves._

_Not that we have anything to put on shelves yet, besides endless letters from the Seneschal getting our taxes straightened out, and piles of semi-polite greetings from the neighbors._

_But the roof is flat, and the view at night is amazing, Kirkwall hidden in shadows except for the torchlit courts here in Hightown, the slight rumble of the sea beyond the harbor just audible beneath the noise of the city itself, and on a clear night the stars are amazing._

_I never know what to do with myself at night when I climb back inside.  The kitchen is huge, and cold at night, no cozy fire and teapot and table for us all to huddle around._

_Not that there’s an us anymore either._

_The Estate is huge, larger than anywhere we ever lived back when there were five of us.  It echoes my footsteps, sometimes, or the whisper of Mother’s voice when she prays, now that there are only two._

_I wish you and Carver could help me fill it up for her._


	14. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [shadoedseptmbr](http://tmblr.co/mUyroTXn5FGG5zdNeUhwgLA) requested "Sebastian and Adelaide and something cozy…keeping warm during a cold snap or making tea or something?" but we'd also had a mem conversation about loneliness and such sad sorts of emotions, so they combined into this.

The Hawkes had all loved the rain.  The way it filled the air, caught in hair and eyelashes, dripped off noses and ears and fingertips, washed the sky and land clean of every worry.  

At least for a little while.

Adelaide stood in the garden, head tilted up to the sky, eyes closed as water met her skin, a soft spring shower soaking her hair and clothes, making each slow lift of her chest to breathe into something damp and heavy.

She was trying not to remember the way Bethany had curled up in windowsills, or in chairs pulled up against the walls, listening to the rhythm of the drops against the roof.  Remembering anyways, the cool shift of flickering grey light down Bethany’s skin, and hair, the soft smile as her eyes closed, the shift of her fingers as she tapped an answering pattern against her leg.

Carver had always snuck outside instead, splashing in puddles, shouting louder than the wind and the thunder, boots only half tied, laces trailing in the mud, rain slick hair heavy and black against his forehead, covering his ears, slipping down beneath his collar, until even he started to shiver from the water trickling down his spine.

Father had usually gone out after him, splashing and stomping and chasing and growling, until Carver gasped one last loud shriek and he was caught up tight in Father’s arms and slung over his broad shoulder.

Mother would stop them at the door, trying desperately to scold them into taking off their muddy boots and cloaks before they tracked the mess into the house.  Her anger was always an illusory thing though, a twitch of lips and a sparkle in her eyes betraying her swallowed laughter.

Only none of them were here to enjoy this rain, would never be here, ever again, and for Adelaide the only thing that made the rain bearable was the fact that it hid her tears, water streaming across her face until only she knew which tracks down her cheeks were warm from her eyes, and which were cool from the dimming air above her.

"You’ll ruin your slippers, love."  She hadn’t heard Sebastian approach, footsteps silent on the soft ground behind her, and yet somehow she wasn’t surprised, felt herself sigh as he reached around her shoulder and pulled her close, his cloak settling back around them both, and she leaned her head back against his shoulder, breathing out something that was almost an apology as her wet hair and clothes stuck to his former dry shirt, dank and clammy.

"Shh," he whispered, his other arm wrapping around her now too, his hand rubbing up and down her side.  Only then, as she started to warm up, did she realize how cold her skin was, her fingertips and toes almost numb, and she shivered, a sharp jerk of her body before she turned, tucking her nose down against his chest, breathing in the warmth of the air caught between them.

They both pretended the damp on his shirt was just rain.

"Come inside?"

She nodded, and felt the press of his lips against the top of her head before he turned, gently pulling her along with him into the mudroom behind the kitchen, until she was sitting on the rough wooden bench, slowly toeing off her house shoes, though they tried to stick to her feet, too wet and heavy to move properly.

Possibly because she was paying more attention to watching the shift of Sebastian’s shoulders as he hung up his cloak and shook out his shirt than in her own wet everything.

No one would yell at her if she tracked mud through the entire Estate.

Not anymore.

But she knew better anyways.  She didn’t need the reminder to not give extra work to Orana or Bodahn, or even herself, if they let her help.

She’d scrubbed her fair share of muddy floors in her life.

Carver had had giant feet well before he’d had the height and the shoulder width to balance them out; he’d always made  _such_  a mess.

He probably still did, tracking darkspawn sludge and Deep Roads grit into whatever Keep it was the Wardens had claimed for their own.

"I wonder who cleans up after Wardens?"

Sebastian didn’t even blink, just shrugging, a hint of a smile softening his mouth, even though his eyes were still too dark, eyebrows too heavy as he looked at her.  ”Someone who doesn’t get paid nearly enough?”

Adelaide snorted, and then let free the slightest wavering sigh as Sebastian’s smile finally reached his eyes.  

"Thank you for rescuing me from the deadly rain shower."  His eyes narrowed, and she grinned.  ”Shall I start some tea to warm us up?”

"How about I start the tea," Sebastian offered her his hand and pulled her to her feet, "while you find dry clothes?"

"How ‘bout you help me find dry clothes?"  She felt her eyebrow lift, was sure, even now, after all this time, that she was blushing as she met his eyes.  "And we both make tea afterwards?"

His laugh was soft and low, and did more to warm her than any towel could have managed.  ”We might never get back down for tea then.”

"I think I’d be fine with that."

"Well then."  He started down the hall towards the stairs, rather than the kitchen, her arm tucked snugly against his side.  "How could I possibly resist?"


	15. anniversary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for my [10,000th post](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/82023476475) on tumblr, (I perhaps spend too much time on tumblr?), Cori requested a 'milestone' for Adelaide/Sebastian. And while I've never actually written out their post-game story arc, I do have a pretty good idea what happens, and a bit of a happily ever after moment seemed fitting.

"Happy Anniversary," Adelaide whispered.

Even in the dark, she could tell when Sebastian smiled, a hum as he started to wake up, and a shift of his weight as he rolled on his side to face her.  "Mornin?"  He managed, almost coherently, and she could just about  _hear_ him blink as his brain caught up with  _still dark and cold_.

And another breath before he finished hearing  _anniversary_. 

"'s it?"

"Ten years ago today, I wandered into the Chantry and heard you singing for the very first time."

"Mmmm?" His hum was slightly more pleased sounding this time, and he rolled a bit further over, his arm falling across her side and pulling her closer to his chest.  "Made you laugh," his voice was slow, a little raspy, and she smiled and tucked herself up against his chin.  "Much better'n my singing."

She laughed at that, almost soundlessly against his neck.  "Have to disagree."

"S'okay, I'll let you."  His nose nuzzled against her hair, and she almost giggled.  "Still wrong though."

She was much too comfortable to shift enough to elbow him in counter-point, so instead she stuck her cold feet on top of his toes.

He shuddered, and his arms tightened around her as he made a pained sort of grunt in answer, but he didn't move his legs.  

"There a reason you woke me up to wish me well  _now,_ rather than waiting 'til after the sun came up?"

"It wasn't dawn yet when I met you, of course.  That would be too late.  Miss the important date entirely."

His grunt managed to be quite effectively sarcastic, even without words.

"Or possibly I had to get up to pee."

"Hmm," he sighed, and his arm slid down between them until his knuckles brushed against the curve of her stomach.

"This is all your fault, you know."

"Yes, it is." He kissed the top of her head, and she could feel the curve of his lips as he rested against her.

"Proud of yourself, aren't you."

She could feel his low rumbling chuckle more than hear it.  "Yes, I am."

She snorted.

"Prouder of you, though." He kissed the top of her head again.  "Get some more sleep, love."

"Trying," she muttered.  "Sing me a lullaby?"

He laughed again, and shifted his weight, just enough to help him take a slow deep breath, and he started a slow, soft song, almost more whispers than melody.  

_"Is o bha mo chadal cho seimh ... "_

She sighed, and felt the last tension in her shoulders ease as her eyes closed, slow and heavy.


	16. cinnamon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> an answer to a relationship question meme on tumblr for [crisium](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/98457657913)

Mama was laughter, warm and bright and filling up the room.

Mama smelled like cinnamon, and her finger tasted like apples when she placed it on your lips, a quiet  _shhh_  and a quirked half smile before she slipped you a piece of curling peel, before gathering the rest of the apple scraps into a jar to fry up for dessert later, and returned to kneading the dough.

Mama’s skin was the same color as yours, her eyes a paler shade of brown, soft and kind, her hair as dark, except for a few bright strands of silver, like stars in the sky at night.

Mama was sad, at night, when Papa was gone and she thought you were sleeping, her face too still and her eyes shining as she stared out the window, fingers resting against the glass, her lips parted as if she was about to ask a question, but she never ever spoke.

Mother was too far away to be sad, after Father died, eyes closed and laughter stilled and voice too calm and quiet. Everything too quiet, as you fed scraps of apples to the twins, and wiped flour off your hands and cheeks, and sighed over the bread at dinner, never quite as light or sweet as you remembered.

Never quite the same.


	17. tha mi duilich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ["sex after a fight"](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/110500490178)

Her fingers dig into his shoulders, like they have so many times before, will again, and yet, this time she feels like a beast, ragged claws and a silent howl in her ears, teeth clenched to hold it in. His hips snap, hard against her, and she can’t help the gasp, the heat, the sharp clench of pleasure, but still she can’t get a grip, no give in his shoulders, no strength in her hands.

He does it again, the sound of their bodies a loud slap in the room, her head falling back, an echoing thud as she hits the wall. He grunts and shifts his grip, stepping closer, pinning her tight between his chest and the wall, and her hands slide against skin gone soft and slick, the slightest scratch of her nails catching on his back before her hands clasp behind his neck.

His hips roll this time, slow and deep, and she moans, a rough ragged sigh, and breathes in the scent of them, sweat and sex and blood and steel.

_"Tha mi duilich."_

It’s the first thing he’s said, and she doesn’t know the words, but she knows enough by the soft whisper of his voice, the stroke of his thumb against her skin, the shiver of his lashes against his cheek.

She drops her head, and lets her lips touch his skin, a soft kiss against the jump of his heart in his throat. “So am I.”


	18. Bethany

The doors had been taller than some of the houses she had lived in.

The inside was worse, several scales larger than any Chantry she'd ever been in ... and lacking seats?

_So not even the chapel proper, just the vestibule?_

Adelaide stopped just past the door, not quite balanced evenly on her feet, and looked around. Carefully. She’d been in a lot of Chantries over the years, but they were usually small cozy village buildings, crammed full of candles and pews and serving as the only large meeting place beyond the local tavern. This was... this was something else altogether.

“Can I help you?” Adelaide wrenched her eyes away from the lofty ceiling and turned towards the unexpected voice at her elbow, failing completely to resist an instant petty dislike to the blonde-haired Sister sneering down her nose at the country bumpkin infecting her chantry.

“Just looking for a quiet place to sit,” Hawke muttered, feeling her fingers flex, missing the weight of her staff between them.

“The chapel’s on the other side,” the Sister gestured vaguely to doors set under the balcony at the end of the long room. She sniffed slightly, as if tired of stating the obvious, and turned quickly towards a new arrival. Someone in fancier clothes. Orlesian silks, from the look of it.

Snorting softly to herself, Hawke headed across the flagstones, unable to keep herself from hunching slightly, her rough leathers suddenly feeling out of place, thanks to Sister-Snob.

_We are all the Maker’s children. Even the rude ones. And the unwilling smugglers._

Wasn't sure why she was worried about that last part. As if her current job could ever be worse than the _heretical and free mage_ part, anyways.

She sighed softly in relief when she made it to the chapel proper, bright sunlight streaming through the windows, candles lit along the walls, dust dancing through the air, reflecting all the light in different, shimmering shades of gold. She slid into the first pew with a slight smile, bowing her head as she breathed in the faint familiar smoke of the brazier, years of constant burning filling the nave and chancel, to the point the fixtures and benches still retained the smell if they were taken elsewhere. She had a sneaking suspicion it even eventually soaked its way into the stone.

Old Farmer Caedoc’s barn had been repaired with former Chantry timber, after the flood in... _where was it, Four’s Crossing?_ It had still smelled of incense, even after he’d filled it with cows and hay. She’d loved sneaking up to his loft every time it rained, to read in peace and quiet and breathe in the scent.

Caedoc had always known when she was there. He’d sometimes left a plate of apples, or carrots, or whatever he could find in his garden. She’d leave some of Mother’s cookies in return.

_Bless his soul, please, oh Andraste, and guide him to sit by the Maker’s side with you. He was a good man. I miss him._

She tried not to list the rest of them, but it had been too long since she'd managed a rest in a place so familiar, the scent filling her chest with each and every breath.

_Father._

_Aeric._ Though hopefully he wasn't dead, hopefully he and his sisters had kept going, gotten all the way out of the Bannorn before ...

Just, before.

She remembered the glint of dirty steel against hard-packed ground, the grey beneath Ser Vallen's skin, the _sound ..._

She swallowed, yanked her attention back to the stone and wood around her, warm and soothing. She hummed softly, hands clasped beneath her chin as she prayed, hoping the familiar melody would bring its usual calm.

> _Maker, though the darkness comes upon me,_  
>  _I shall embrace the light. I shall weather the storm._  
>  _I shall endure._  
>  _What you have created, no one can tear asunder._

It wasn't enough, couldn't stop the rest of the memory, broken bones and flesh and the dank scent of darkspawn rot cut through by the hot spill of fresh blood.

Bethany's blood.

Her eyes closed, but it was too late.

_Why would You create a world without her in it?_

The tears fell, soft and hot against her fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trials 1:10


	19. wistful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for [sept](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/131124518923#notes)
> 
> A new perspective, aka girls are pretty (why can't I date one?) and also Hawkes keep secrets (oh yes that's why)

Her name was  _Sahara._  

Her father Eoin had been making a yearly stop in Lothering as part of his trade route for at least as long as the Hawkes had lived there, but this was the first year he’d brought his daughter along.

And she was  _beautiful._

Shorter even than Adelaide herself, which didn’t happen often, (but made sense, considering her mother was a dwarf), with dark serious eyes and nimble fingers and  _her hair .._. her hair was brown, but that made it sound dull, and it wasn’t, not at all, rich and thick and gleaming in the sun, and a wisp had worked its way free when Adelaide was talking to her outside of Dane’s and blown in front of her eyes and she’d gone cross-eyed and scowled and Adelaide had laughed, even as her fingers twitched, desperate to reach up and smooth it back behind Sahara’s ear.

She at least had sense enough not to do that.

Barely.

_Too many things could go wrong._

Even the thought of the way things might go right was not quite enough to chance it.

She wondered if it ever would.


	20. jubilant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ["you nearly died" kiss](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/166499920953) for sapphy <3

It was bright, too bright, sharp and hot and white, it _hurt;_ there was no noise she could recognize, but it was loud all the same, so bright she couldn’t hear a thing.

She could feel her voice in her throat, could feel how dry her mouth was, but she couldn’t hear herself speak, couldn’t know if she was speaking at all, couldn’t know if she was…

Couldn’t feel herself at all.

She wanted to move, to speak, to grab onto…

She was?

She wasn’t.

There wasn’t anything.

There wasn’t…

There was?

Her head hurt so much she could feel _her hair._

She could feel her hair.

No, she could feel a hand in her hair, not quite tugging, just there, _there,_ just…

Pressure on her lips, _she could feel her lips,_ and then liquid, cool and thick and _green as magic._

She swallowed.

She blinked.

It was almost dark, lovely and cool and dim and warm flickers at the edge, _fireplace,_ not her head flickering.

She tried to focus, though her head felt woolly, like those cheap cloaks they made in Lothering for the spring rains. She managed something that might have been half a question swallowed by a groan.

“Shh,” the voice was so soft it didn’t hurt, though the breath that brushed against her shivered, though the lips that pressed to her forehead seemed to tremble, stayed there for a very long time before he spoke. “Rest, love.”

“Been?” She managed, blinking until she could the line of a cheek, the shadow of Sebastian’s nose, could recognize his fingers stroking the hair at her temple.

“I know you’ve been resting, but you’ll need more.”

“You?” She was tired again, still, the flickering edges of the room turning as fuzzy as the inside of her head. 

“Of course I’ll still be here.”

She could still focus enough to catch the edges of his smile, though the glint of firelight in his eyes was darker than it should have been.

She grunted. "You right?”

His smile widened, a sigh of air making her hair shift. “I’m fine. Even better now.”

“G’d.” Her eyes closed, and she felt him kiss her cheek, lips soft and warm and steady. She felt herself sigh, felt the dark surround her, soft and warm, and slipped back to sleep.


	21. a day in the life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka a glimpse into that first year in Kirkwall, before Act I begins
> 
> Most of these scenes have been posted previously, but got misplaced in one or the other of my attempts at reorganization or reposting after I deleted my first account. So here, have them again? I don't recall when I wrote most of the originals, so unfortunately I cannot link previous inspirations or put the correct date it. Hopefully they're still enjoyable. :)

"What is wrong with you?"

"Hmmmph," Adelaide mumbled as she tried to burrow into her pillow. Carver snarling at her while she was trying to sleep was more than she wanted to deal with. Carver, in general, was rather exhausting, actually, and she was slightly tempted, for just a moment, to hex him so he'd leave her be. "Sleepin'. G'way."

"Well wake up, _sister,_ or Mother will ask why you're still in bed so late in the day, and I'll have to tell her you spent your night sitting up in Hightown, _again,_ and she'll wring her hands and be all ... _mothery_ at me all day."

There was a catch in his voice, and she couldn't seem to think of anything to say, because, truthfully, they'd both be delighted if Leandra managed anything so basic as _mothery._

He swallowed hard enough she could practically feel it, even still half buried under her covers, and his voice cracked as he spoke up again, too fast, too rough. "As if I could do anything about you and your stupid praying in the sodding Chantry."

Hawke hit her pillow, using the momentum to shove herself up and turn to glare at her brother. "If you call it the sodding Chantry in my hearing again I really will hex you, Father's lessons be damned."

"Oh, that's very charitable. Your _sodding_ Chantry would be so proud of you, using Magic to torment a man."

"You're not a man, you're a brother," Adelaide snarled as she reached out and swatted at his ear.

"OW!" He shoved her back in retaliation, and the next thing she knew they were wrestling and swearing at each other, and she'd banged her knee on the bed-frame when they'd slid onto the floor. He was taking it easy on her, obviously, as he was at least three times as strong as she was, but he'd no more use that extra strength against her than she'd use magic, tempting though she was sure it was for both of them.

They'd neither of them dare disappoint Father though, even if he was dead.

_Especially now he's dead._

With a deep loud woof, Daryn suddenly pounced in the middle of them, the stub of his tail wagging so hard the entire back half of his body was swaying back and forth, and they were forced to retreat to separate sides of the giant mabari to avoid getting squashed by heavy paws.

"Ow," Carver muttered again, more sulk than pain deepening his voice, legs sprawled beside the dog, hand pressed to his side where she'd managed to get a decent jab in with her elbow.

"Baby," Adelaide sniffed, trying desperately not to rub her own knee, or her side, or the bruise she could feel blooming across her cheek, or her sore arse from when she'd landed on the wood floor just wrong. And then Daryn was snuffling against her cheek, tongue wet when he licked her nose, and she was squirming and laughing. "Hush, Daryn, yes, we love you too, we would never play without you, no we wouldn't, no, never."

"Maker," Carver sighed. "Must you talk to him like a baby? He's a War Dog."

"But he's a very nice war dog, yes he is," Adelaide crooned, rubbing him behind his ears as he panted happily in her face.

"And that is why everyone makes jokes about Fereldans and their dogs," Carver sighed again as he shoved himself to his feet.

"It's not my fault he's smarter than you are." Adelaide grinned as Carver just rolled his eyes and stomped out again. He was a master stomper. Even better than she was.

And he'd woken her up and there was no way she was getting back to sleep and now she needed breakfast. _Stupid tit. Probably ate the last of the sweetbread, too._

* * *

"Elegant!" Hawke grinned at the pretty blonde trying to leave the bakery. "How's my favorite herbalist?"

"I'm rather sure I'm the only herbalist you know," Elegant tilted her head, the graceful gesture not marred at all by her wink. "But if you truly wished to show your affection, you could buy me a sweet roll?"

"You're sweet enough all on your own." But Hawke turned and held up a finger towards the clerk behind the counter who was already preparing her usual order. _Add one more, please?_

"Such a charmer." Elegant lifted one graceful hand to her heart with a sigh. "If you keep that up, I might just offer you a taste."

"And how would your mysterious Lord feel about that?" Adelaide asked.

"He's a man. He'd ask to watch."

Adelaide covered her mouth to muffle her snicker.

"Ah, enough fun," Elegant stepped forward and picked her extra roll off the counter. "Thank you. And take care of yourself. And don't flirt with Tomwise so much, his wife might take offense."

"Sascha knows I'm harmless." Sascha tended to snicker at Adelaide's version of flirting, truthfully, but Elegant had known them for years. "But I'll try. Since you asked so nicely."

"Listen to the locals, Hawke." Elegant leaned in and gave Adelaide a quick peck on the cheek in farewell, the delicate scent of her perfume enough to make Adelaide smile. "You don't want to be attracting attention, after all."

"Of course not, Elegant. See you tonight?"

"I have the night off." Elegant's smile was slow and sweet. _Oooh, I can guess what your plans are, then. Hope your Lord's as nice as he seems._ "I'll see you tomorrow."

* * *

"You're late." Aveline managed to scowl without even bothering to lift her head and meet Hawke's eyes. Adelaide suddenly felt about twelve, and wondered why she had never been able to intimidate her own younger siblings as effectively as Aveline could intimidate, well, everyone.

"Been a bit off today, sorry," she mumbled as she slid into the empty seat across the table. "Already eat?"

"I was waiting. We had planned on dinner together."

 _Ow._ "Sorry, Aveline."

"You said that already." Aveline finally looked up from the book she'd been reading, the slightest hint of a smile softening her eyebrows. "And I came prepared, after all." She closed her book gently and slid it to the side.

"Am I really that unreliable?"

"No. You're that unpredictable." Aveline's eyes flickered slightly, presumably cataloging the bruise that had darkened nicely across her cheek after her squabble with her brother. "One day you'll go to work and home and back again, and the other you'll get side-tracked all the way across Lowtown helping Serah Lirene, even though you've barely got enough coin to feed that giant dog of yours."

"I've got a roof, even if it comes with an Uncle Gamlen." Adelaide breath caught mid-sigh. "Wait, how did you know I've been helping Serah Lirene? I hadn't mentioned that last week."

"I keep an ear to the ground." Aveline's armor shifted slightly as she shrugged. "Can't have you getting into too much trouble."

"You could've just asked, you know."

"Alright." Aveline settled back in her chair, arms crossed in front of her chest. "Do you really think going to morning services is such a grand idea? Considering?"

Adelaide barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. _Do you think I glow when I pray, or something?_ "You could come with, if you're so concerned. Keep an eye on me directly, listen to some singing." She paused. Felt her voice lift, a bit too obviously, but she couldn't quite seem to swallow it back down again. "Light a candle?"

"Wesley needs no candles from me."

"But do you need a candle for him?"

"I do not." The slightest flare of Aveline's nostrils was as much as rolled eyes and a sigh in anyone else. "I am concerned with the living, now. As you should be. Your family..."

"My Uncle's a sot, my brother would rather fight than talk, and listening to my mother _not ..._ " She stopped, uncertain how to finish that. _Listen to my mother not mother?_ "But I didn't expect you of all people to condemn me for wanting the Maker's comfort. You married a Templar."

"And you're an apostate," Aveline hissed, leaning forward and aiming her ire directly at Adelaide's face. She leaned back slowly, her voice raised to more normal volume. "I married a good man. Not his job."

"A good man who now walks by the Maker's side. Don't you wish him to know you're thinking of him?"

"He knows, or he doesn't. My lighting a candle won't change that, and you asking about my husband will not distract me." Aveline pointed one strong finger towards Adelaide's chest. "You should not be drawing attention to yourself from those who would turn you over to the Knight-Commander without a second thought."

"Then why don't you?"

"I beg your pardon?" Affronted Aveline was terrifying, voice deep and eyebrows raised. _But I have to know._

"You may not bow to the Chantry, but harboring an apostate is generally considered illegal. As is turning a blind eye to a smuggler, however little I wanted the job. Why haven't you turned me in?"

"Family requires forbearance."

_Oh._

"I love you too, Aveline."

Aveline rolled her eyes.

 _Ah, there's my girl._ Adelaide grinned across the table. "Thanks for surviving the Blight with me."

"Oh shush. Order yourself some food, why don't you. My treat." Her voice turned dry, as she picked up her book and put it away. "I actually get paid every week."

* * *

"You're late," Athenril snapped at the trio of Hawkes entering the closet of an office she maintained in her favorite dockside warehouse.

"We're not," Carver objected before Adelaide could think up a more polite greeting. "You said sunset. Sun's not down yet."

"I said before sunset, you little brat, and I can see stars." Athenril waved one elegant hand towards the easterly facing window behind her. Which was, in fact, quite dark.

"Simple misunderstanding, Athenril, our apologies," Adelaide interjected, kicking her brother in the ankle in the hopes he'd have the sense to shut up, for once.

Carver grunted, and glared, but wonder of wonders, didn't argue. _A miracle from Andraste Herself. Thank you, Lady._

Athenril echoed Carver's grunt in her lighter voice, then sighed. "Alright. My latest shipment got delayed further up the Coast, actually, so it's no never mind that you weren't here half a mark ago. Feel free to wait with the other crews.

"Not you, though," Athenril pointed at Adelaide as they turned to leave. Carver grunted in annoyance again, but slapped his leg and encouraged Daryn to follow him back out into the warehouse proper.

"Yes, Athenril?" Adelaide perched on the one spare chair in the room, trying not to fidget. Her employer made her nervous, all sharp edges hidden by a smooth smile. At least she was surprisingly honest, for a smuggler.

With her crews, at least.

_Or else so good at lying that I haven't caught her at it._

"The Knight-Commander's a bitch."

"Um?" _So I've heard? Usually more discreetly than that, however._

"Unfortunately, she's a smart one, and has a pretty good idea which groups in Kirkwall have the need and the coin to have smuggled in mages from amongst the refugees."

"Is she looking here?" Adelaide lifted one hand, fingers gesturing slightly back and forth, trying to include both Athenril and herself in the gesture.

"Not yet." Athenril paused again, head tilted. "Worthy tells me he sees you cutting through the High Court periodically when he's heading towards the Merchant's Quarter to set up for the day. Brilliant idea, that."

"Brilliant, what?"

"Pretending to be a good little Andrastian and attend Chants. First time the wrong someones in the Gallows hear a rumor about apostates in the gangs, they won't be looking at the _good_ refugees."

"Uh. Right." _So, pretending to pray is good? But the real thing is dangerous. Good to know._ "Glad to help?"

"You keep thinking ahead, like that, you could be more than just a runner. You could have more than just a hovel in Lowtown you know." Athenril pushed herself out of her chair, her steps slow and steady as she started around her desk. "I could keep the Templars off your back for more than just this year, if you'd like. If you were... interested?" She sat down on the front of her desk, one eyebrow raised, slim legs stretched out in front of her.

"Uh." _Wow. Quality conversationalist today. How to say thanks but no thanks, you scare the shit out of me, and I'm kind of a terrible criminal anyways?_

"Nothing to say? How unlike you, Adelaide."

Hawke tried not to jump in surprise as Athenril leaned forward and whispered her name. No one except her mother called her Adelaide. Even Carver called her Hawke, or sister, or just glared at her until she said something. Or tried to hit him.

_Bethany used to call me Adelaide._

"Not that I'm not, uh, grateful," Adelaide tried very hard not to push herself further back in her chair to get away from Athenril's smile. "But, I don't really think I make a good smuggler. Long-term, I mean."

"You've been very good at everything I've asked you to do," Athenril shook her head slightly, grey eyes icy cold. "Don't pretend to modesty, it doesn't become you."

"No false modesty, promise, I have trouble keeping up the necessary lies." _Even the nice Chantry Brother knows I work for a gang, and that has got to be as far from sensible as possible._ "Besides, I gathered when we met I was a rather expensive investment?"

"Oh, you're worth every sovereign," Athenril's voice was dry, but there was still a hint of something warm, almost a purr, beneath the words. "And then some. Probably the first time in history your Uncle Gamlen undersold something."

"Well thank you," _I am not a thing you can add to your collection._ Adelaide clenched her jaw to avoid pulling away when Athenril's fingers came to rest gently on the back of her hand.

"You're very welcome." She leaned in even closer, much too close, close enough Adelaide could feel her breath on her cheek. "Remember it. You would be valued here, if you stayed."

With that, Athenril stood back up on her feet and walked back around her desk, voice cool and collected once again. "You can take your brother and your dog and head home, actually. I'll send Nuala up when my cargo finally slides in ... you and your brother are free for the next sennight."

"Of course, Athenril."

 _Was she just trying to recruit me, seduce me, or terrify me into line? All of the above? Or was that Athenril being nice?_ Shaking her head to settle her thoughts, Adelaide nodded and went out to round up Carver and Daryn.

_Maybe it's finally time to head up to Sundermount then._


End file.
